


Misadventures in Courtship

by Tethys_resort



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Courtship, Food, M/M, Romance, poor communication skills, terrible gift ideas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-16 14:29:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19652653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tethys_resort/pseuds/Tethys_resort
Summary: Gimli and Legolas are trying really hard to court each other.  Aragorn wishes they would just talk rather than making his life harder.  Everyone else is enjoying the show.





	Misadventures in Courtship

**Author's Note:**

> Rating is for some truly terrible gifts. And the fact that sex is mentioned.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any of Tolkien’s wonderful characters or universe, I am just borrowing them to play.

Two days after returning to Minas Tirith…

Aragorn stares at the desk in what was nominally supposed to be HIS office. Somehow overnight the piles of paperwork have grown. Where did the stuff come from? Who was making these reports? Why were they bothering when the city was half in ruins? Surely they had better things to do with their time than tell HIM there was STILL high quality sand to the north of the Bay of Belfas. What was he to do with sand? What made it high quality? 

He supposes, deep down, it is all important. But right now he has a city to rebuild and all the massive clean-up operation that must happen in the wake of war. And this morning his face hurts. 

“My Lord, do you want tea?” Faramir strolls in with another stack, considers the desk, and with due care and deliberation adds it to the minor hillock at the right front of the desk. 

Well, one question answered…. “Don’t call me that. How about wine?”

Faramir eyes the leaning piles. “I like the idea, but can we drink at three hours beyond sunrise? And what happened to your nose?”

“A romance. Tea is fine.” Aragorn sighs, it is time to learn why he cares about sand.

***

Legolas sprawls down over the branch considering his options and watching the city beyond the green leaves. He had admitted to himself he loved the dwarf weeks ago, somewhere between Helms Deep and Isengard as Gimli drowsed wounded against his back. How much he had wanted to make sure no other harm would befall him during a mission that swallowed lives in instants of fire, arrows and blood. The best he could do was to make sure they always stood together in battle, the better to watch over his love.

Uncertain any of them would live he had savored all the quiet moments up to the final battle. He sang lullabies to help the dwarf sleep and listened with care to the sound of his breathing through the night. When the ghosts of the Dead surrounded their camp he had finally dared to snuggle up against the dwarf’s back and lay his head upon the soft springy hair. Gimli hadn’t objected or even awakened; and it was the warm, safe sensation of curling up next to the dwarf that was spurring him on now.

He could never decide how to tell his dwarf how much he loved him, nor was he quite certain how his overtures would be received. But now he had time and was going to do it right. He would take his time and woo his love with song and poems. 

Idly, the elf pats the branch he is lying on. There are only trees in this garden, the soil is dry and thin feeling and the trees sing breathless and strained. The leaves decorating the smooth branches are pallid green with yellow veins.

So far though, his attempts at confessing his love have not gone to plan. Last night at dinner he started with the big traditional courting gesture of poetry: he recited a poem to his love with passion, only to have Gimli stare at him in bafflement and pass him both the water pitcher and pickles down the table. 

And then for some reason Merry kicked Pippin. Hard. 

He flips over, tapping his feet on the branch above him. The tree can hear his humming and echoes back his song to grow and thrive. How do dwarves confess their love? One would think a poem praising the multitudinous virtues of the person of your affection would work!

Finally, toying with the heavy pair of beads on a leather string around his neck, he decides to seek assistance. Making a mental note that the trees of this garden require iron and lots of mulch, he slithers out of the tree.

***

Sam stares at the half eaten plate of breakfast. One and a half little sausages instead of the original two, five and one half griddle cakes (with butter and honey!) instead of six. At least he had eaten the whole apple. It wasn’t like Mr. Frodo not to eat breakfast. 

Worst of all, Mr. Frodo had then gone back to bed. Sam tries again a few hours later.

“Mr. Frodo, I made second breakfast. A nice spice cake and tea?”

Frodo sat on the side of his bed clutching the wrist of his maimed hand until his knuckles turned white. He is still pale and thin looking, his eyes are haunted and he never smiles. “It’s okay Sam I’m sure Merry and Pippin would love second breakfast. I’m just going to lie down and rest a little more.” 

Sam just knows he needs something to make Mr. Frodo feel better. He just isn’t sure what. “Come on Mister Frodo, let’s go sit in the sun and have cake.” He makes his eyes as big and sad as possible as he begs.  
Frodo sighs, maybe the world would look less transparent in the sunshine.

***

Gimli sits on rubble from the outer wall and grumbles. He had intended to take some notes and measurements, preparation for helping Aragorn with the rebuilding but was instead doodling on the paper of his notebook and smoking his pipe. He had realized the perpetually moving, noisy elf was his One one evening as Legolas had swirled off across the grass of Rohan singing to the stars. The certainty only solidified over time, through battles and quiet evenings with the elf curled nearby singing. Or sleeping with his eyes open, which was as unnerving a thing as Gimli had ever seen…. But no dwarf ever expected his One to be perfect, but just HIS. 

Unfortunately, the courting gift of beads last night had been less than successful: He hadn’t realized the dratted elf really was in motion ALL THE TIME. 

Hmm… The wall at this point has taken at least two near field impacts from the trebuchets the Enemy towed across the battlefield. Even the interior layer of the wall is cracked and deflected a hands width off its foundation. 

Yesterday he selected a pair of his favorites out of his minor collection of hair beads, finely carved silver and gemstones he had made himself and worn on the long journey from his home in Erebor to Imladris, through Khazad-Dum and across Rohan to here in Minas Tirith. Perfect as an opening statement of regard, they were finely made (proof of his wealthy family and his abilities at craft) and a symbol of their joint survival through the War (guarding each other’s backs all the way through). 

His heart soared as Legolas hugged him in thanks and immediately added the beads to the tails of the thin braids to either side of his ears. What lovely hair too, golden and silky.

Then the, HIS, elf turned with graceful speed to sit at the table. And Aragorn failed to duck the newly decorated (and honestly, much heavier) braids. In turning to assist his newly bleeding friend, the other braid beheaded an innocent wine glass. The crash attracted everyone’s attention; but Aragorn, learning quickly, and with his table linen clutched to his nose, had ducked the return swing.

Legolas had then been ordered to remove his beads by command of the king.

Worse yet, there was no sign the elf understood his gesture.

Obviously dwarf tradition would not serve in this case. 

And while he’s thinking he should take some notes on the state of the wall foundation. He’s not sure what they were thinking, using marble in a load bearing structure (glittery?) but when he rebuilds it he’ll use something just as pretty but more durable. 

***

Amazingly, sunshine helps. The presence of Merry and Pippin eating the cake helps more. All four hobbits sprawled across the grass of their little courtyard garden, watching the clouds drift by.

Predictably, it is Pippin who breaks the silence. “How long do you think it’ll take for Legolas and Gimli to have sex?”

“PIPPIN!” Merry seemed highly tempted to kick Pippin again. 

“But, you saw them at dinner! It was embarrassing to watch! And I don’t think we need any more dinner poetry about Gimli!” 

It was true, it had been a strained evening. 

It started as they were all sitting down at the big table. Gimli stomped up to Legolas and with a gruff “Here” handed the elf a cloth pouch. Legolas hugged Gimli with the bright happiness of a toddler with a teddy bear before opening the pouch. The beads were an immediate hit: Legolas added them to the ends of his trailing side braids (down for the evening) and bounced to his seat. Even after Aragorn ordered the beads’ removal he had had a bright smile. 

The elf was still smiling as they took the last few bites of the main course. Then he stood, stared down the table two seats to Gimli and started reciting poetry. He was met with silence, before Gimli carefully scooped up the dish of pickled beets and water jug and handed them to Merry. Pippin had been too occupied to pass them on, so Merry handed them over Pippin’s head to the puzzled Legolas. Dessert had been very, very quiet. 

“Was that what the poem was about? I thought…” Frodo snorted. “Bilbo would be appalled; he hates bad poetry.” 

***

“Estel?” Legolas is hovering in his office doorway eyeing the piles of paperwork with trepidation. 

Amazingly, Aragorn and Faramir were making good progress on the paperwork mountains. There were minor patches of desk showing like an unseasonable spring thaw. There was a nagging doubt of simple math though: if more paperwork showed up in the night than he managed to shuffle away during the day, how long until his office is buried?

“Legolas?”

Legolas shifts from foot to foot. “I had some questions...”

Aragorn sighs, he figured it would all come around again. “Come in and help us look for the other half of the uniform inventory for the Second Ring West City barracks. The ribbon slipped off somewhere.”

The elf grabs a chair from the other side of the room and pulls it up to the desk. Settling in, he grabs a pile. “What is the date?”

“The day before yesterday.”

For a few minutes, there is silence but for the rustle of paper. Aragorn wonders if he can convince Legolas to spend the afternoon here, helping with the war on documentation. He certainly could use more hands and eyes. Maybe Gimli could help with paperwork too? He’s pretty sure asking the Hobbits would be a mistake, and Gandalf has already intoned, “Bureaucratic paperwork is not the province of wizards.” Who was taking care of this stuff before?

“Faramir, why do we not have scribes?” 

“Ada has scribes.” Legolas sounds a little muffled with the paper in front of his face.

“We have scribes; they were reassigned to the army just before you arrived. They are still out inventorying equipment, weapons, the injured and the dead. I am beginning to believe we should recall some for the castle.” After a morning of paperwork, Faramir sounds a little annoyed at the current location of said scribes. 

“Why do Men of the Guard want to count articles of undergarments?” Legolas sounds completely baffled. 

“Oh, that’s the one. Give it here.” Faramir took the papers, added them to his stack and began to read. “It says here they are short eleven smallclothes and three dozen pairs of socks and will need restocking before the barracks reopen.”

“Can we add it to the paperwork for the Army? Or does it go to the City Watch pile?” Aragorn’s tone clearly indicates he can’t figure out why there are two piles. 

“Do dwarves like poetry?” The sudden non sequitur brought Faramir’s reading to a halt as he lifts his head to stare at the elf. Legolas ran one long finger down the corner of the stack of documents still in his lap and sighs at the papers. “Gimli didn’t like my poem and he never notices me singing and I don’t know what to try next.”

“Trust me, he’s noticed you singing.” The singing is hard to miss. “Have you tried just saying to him ‘Gimli, I love you.’? Just exactly way?”

“I cannot do that! It would be terribly rude and Gimli would be correct to never speak to me again!”

Aragorn rolls his eyes and stares at the ornate dwarf hair beads on a string around the oblivious elf’s neck. This was why some elven courtships lasted hundreds of years. “I didn’t say ‘tackle him and have sex’, I said tell him ‘I love you’. There’s a difference in those statements.” 

Legolas is looking at him with an expression of supreme doubt. 

“Then how about a gift saying the same thing? Something that would make him happy or feel special?” Aragorn sighs, this is going about as well as he expected. 

“I gave Lady Eowyn my mother’s cloak. The color suits her perfectly and she can walk the city in warmth and comfort. And my Lady has promised to cook dinner for me soon. Something of that nature.” Faramir has a delighted look in his eyes, but Aragorn isn’t sure if it is for Legolas’ love woes or the idea of Lady Eowyn. The soft sappy grin would probably indicate Lady Eowyn. He hopes he doesn’t look quite as silly thinking of his beloved Arwen. 

“A gift…. I know where such a gift can be obtained.” Legolas lurches to his feet, scattering the pile of paper from his lap. “I have to hurry! It is late!” The elf deftly dodges the settling papers and whirls out the door and down the hall, the sound of singing in his wake.

Faramir eyes the papers spread from the desk to the door and smirks. “That was the romance?”

***

Gimli stomped towards the open market in the First Ring with steadily growing cheer. Careful consideration and mapping of issues in his notebook had teased out important facts on his courtship of his elf. To wit:

-He needs to have a gift expressing his love to the elf which cannot be mistaken for anything else. He is pretty sure with all the hugs and such that Legolas would be interested in courtship, but it is best to do these things in proper order.

-This gift should be something that makes Legolas happy, preferably rare or special. There is still Thranduil to consider, and every dwarf parent he knows is deeply interested in the ability of a prospective son or daughter-in law to contribute to the emotional and financial wellbeing of the partnership. He can only assume elf parents are the same and he wants his gifts to serve as good evidence of his abilities. 

-Logistically, any gift for Legolas would have to be found, made or purchased with funds on hand. 

-The forges and craft shops in town are just restarting in the wake of the massive battles, attempting to borrow or purchase time in one is improbable at this point.

-Anything which can accidentally be used as a weapon should be avoided.

Even mere weeks after the battle that lay waste to portions of the outer wall and lower city, the big market of the First Ring is coming back to life. The canvas stalls are a little patched and stained (and in some cases a little shaky with splinted tent poles) but goods are finally pouring into the city again. Gimli has a little cash, it shouldn’t be difficult to either purchase something outright, or barter for repair work. He only needs to search the market until something perfect for his elf is found.

The first row are metal craftsmen, they seem to be selling tools and utensils. Gimli’s not certain what Legolas would do with a spade, frying pans or fireplace utensils. Worse, they may well fit the guideline of “avoid because they are a potential weapon”. He’d rather not be culpable in any more accidental maimings. The next row is pottery and a further contains shops of fine fabrics on bolts and seamstresses for clothing. All of their clothing is a little worn and tattered but he doesn’t know Legolas’s clothing measurements. He does spend a moment fingering the fine linens and silks and admiring the spools of trim. This may be a good market for Erebor brocades, he’ll have to remember to add it to his notebook.

He’s sure if he searches the market long enough he’ll find something appropriate.

***

The entire party gathered for dinner again that night. Aragorn was willing to swear paper cuts hurt worse than arrow wounds. After Legolas had left, he and Faramir collected and restacked the paperwork scattered in the wake of the hurried elf’s departure before continuing their attempt at being scribes. 

It is a surprise to no one when Gimli appears early, standing off to the side and wearing the thin expression of a dwarf determined to get it right this time. He carries a narrow, rolled paper packet with a bow tied around the middle. When Legolas appears with a happy smile and totting a milk bucket that sloshes when he walks, Aragorn exiles both elf and dwarf to the patio. Given last time, he isn’t taking chances.

As they went outside, the hobbits and Gandalf made a mad dash behind them to the double doors. 

The pair stood there and stared at each other awkwardly. Finally, Gimli clears his throat, “I got this for you.” He nervously shoves the packet at the elf’s waist. 

Legolas carefully sets the covered bucket down behind him and takes the paper packet, and after turning it over and over in his hands opens the end and peers in. Baffled he reaches in and pulls out something resembling a skinny strip of wrinkled rawhide. Legolas holds it up to the late afternoon sunshine and then up to his face to stare at it more closely. Finally, he took a cautious sniff and said, “Ah, it’s vanilla! It smells nice.” And he stuffs the end of the bean in his mouth. 

Everyone watches as he bites down and gives a few experimental attempts at chewing. Aragorn wonders if Legolas has ever actually seen a vanilla bean before, cooking wasn’t exactly the King’s strong point either but he is certain you aren’t supposed to chew on vanilla beans.

After an awkward minute of silence, Sam says, “Mr. Legolas, you’re supposed to cook with it. They’re too tough to just eat.”

Legolas pulls the vanilla bean out of his mouth. “Oh.” Then turning to the slightly mortified dwarf, “Thank you Gimli-nin, I will cook things with my vanilla beans.” Then, rallying, Legolas gave Gimli a radiant smile and said, “I also brought you a gift I thought you’d enjoy.” The elf ceremoniously uncovers and hands the milk bucket to the dwarf. 

Gimli peers into the milk bucket and freezes. Apparently Legolas hadn’t been sloshing the bucket as he walked, the contents of the bucket had been struggling for freedom. A very large, dark brown eel rests under a thin layer of water, staring balefully back at its captors.

The eel slithered back on itself, burying its head in the center of a ball of its body with a tiny splash. 

The hobbits crowd out the doors to take a closer look at the gift. Aragorn sighs. Yes, because nothing says ‘I love you’ like the gift of a live eel. Gimli has a slightly bemused look reminding Aragorn of the time he presented Arwen with an inkwell for her begetting day. (And that was the last time he took Elladan and Elrohir’s gift advice.) 

“Legolas?” Aragorn kept it to a whisper while the hobbits were distracted by the bucket. “Why an eel?” Gandalf was inching closer and leaning in to listen to the response. 

“I heard some of the Men of Rohan talking.” Here Legolas pauses, uncertain of how to continue.

“…” Aragorn and Gandalf nod vigorously.

“Two of them were talking on the wall at Helm’s Deep after the battle. One said to the other that he had an eel in his pants for him. They seemed to think it was a good gift.” Legolas is watching with proprietary delight as Gimli holds the bucket of eel.

Aragorn sighs and rubs his hands over his face trying to not snicker. Everyone always forgets about the acute hearing of elves. He glances through his hair at the suddenly slightly worried elf standing next to him.

“The Men of Rohan weren’t speaking of eels? To what were they referring then?” 

At Legolas’s next questions, Gandalf coughs slightly and murmurs, “King Elessar, forgive me but I have just remembered I have pressing business. I shall return presently.” And hastily sweeps back in the doors. Coward. This unfortunately leaves Aragorn holding the conversational bag. Desperate to do something other than explain the Men of Rohan to Legolas he turns back to Gimli and the hobbits. 

Sam’s eyes are wide with happiness. “Eel! I have a great eel recipe, you just dredge the eel in flour and sauté it with onions and garlic-“ Trust Sam to be excited by the slimy thing. 

Wait, an eel. From the river? Oh, dear….

Aragorn clears his throat and says, “We are not eating the eel.”

Identical expressions of incomprehension and silence from the entire group meet the comment. Aragorn tries again, “The eels live in the river. They eat what is in the river. We just had a battle next to and ON the river.”

This time it is Sam who broke the silence, “We aren’t eating the eel.”

The milk bucket was set carefully on the mantle for later delivery back to the river. Dinner was once again very quiet.

***

Gimli drifted into consciousness slowly in the middle of the night. He lay still trying to decide what had woken him from a sound slumber. So long on watch and guarding against orcs and every other danger of the journey had obviously left him jumpy. Honestly, it was too quiet in his room. No rustling from the hobbits, no sounds of breathing of the Men as they slept, no Legolas humming quietly as he watched the stars. 

No Legolas.

In the dark, silent room he is willing to admit he misses his elf’s constant companionship. Starting at the Paths of the Dead, Legolas seemed to have concluded that wrapping around Gimli was a good way to sleep. Gimli would never tell Legolas he had actually been awake that first night when the elf had tugged his blankets closer and then carefully wrapped long wiry arms around the dwarf like a draping plant. There had been eye rolling from Aragorn when he had walked past their bedrolls but when surrounded by the Dead, Legolas’s embrace was too comforting a sensation to push the elf away. 

Gimli heaved a sigh and rolled over before squawking and jerking. Legolas is crouching on the floor with his chin on the bed, staring at the back of Gimli’s head intently. Startled at the sudden motion, Legolas jumps slightly before leaning back in over the mattress to “nose to nose” distance with a radiant smile. “Gimli-nin! You’re awake!”

“Legolas, lad, what’re you doing in my room?” And why are you so close? And how did you get in? Gimli is pretty certain he had bolted the door, a reasonable precaution in a city of strangers.

“Nothing I try is a good gift.” Legolas sounds reflective and slightly sad. 

“You came to tell me this in the middle of the night?” Gimli reaches an arm out from under his blankets and pats the elf awkwardly on one shoulder. “Truthfully lad, I think we both failed at gift giving. Now, why are you really here?”

“I was lonely, and I don’t like it in these rooms. I can’t breathe. Gimli, can I stay with you?” Legolas sounds lost and young in the dark.

Gimli thought about the old, solid stone walls and dark corridors of the Citadel and the ancient crumbling houses and walls of Minas Tirith. Even to a dwarf the city loomed. “Come on, climb in.” It’s not like the beds aren’t enormous, an elf and a dwarf should fit just fine.

The elf carefully ducks his head under the blankets and climbing up on the bed lies down on the very edge, in danger of tipping over onto the floor. Then, he carefully shuffles sideways until their arms almost touch. When Gimli said nothing he very slowly continued wiggling a little closer until they were closer yet. When Legolas shifts again, Gimli slips an arm under the thin frame and flips the elf so he is spooned up against him. Legolas sighs, tucks his head down a little into Gimli’s beard and settles. 

They lay in the dark, comfortable for the first time since their return to the city. Legolas had somehow tucked one hand into Gimli’s beard too and the long fingers were wound into the hair so neither could have moved suddenly without a certain amount of hair pulling. Gimli licked his lips, how had his throat gotten so dry? 

“Legolas, you are my One. I love you. I will always love you and never another.” Silence greets his confession. Puzzled he tries to look down at the blond head right under his chin but is foiled by the weight on his beard. Deciding the elf had fallen asleep, he runs his free hand down Legolas’ head and back gently before grabbing the blanket and pulling it up a little farther. 

He drifted off peacefully into quiet dreams.

When Gimli opens his eyes again, Legolas is sitting in the windowsill quietly singing to the sunrise. Seeing him awake the elf smiled and said, “Good morning Gimli-nin! Let’s go hunting.”

“Hunting? What are we hunting?” Baffled and half-awake Gimli can only think back to them hunting orcs together across Rohan. 

Legolas’s smile turned toothy. “Food! Or are you too tired and lazy?”

“Tired and lazy? This from a creature that spends his days lounging in trees!”

“Whereas dwarfs must tunnel because their armor weighs too much for them to walk on the surface of the ground!”

Gimli tries to maintain the argument but is beginning to snicker at the familiar pattern of insults. “Weigh too much, you weigh more than I do, you – “ 

“Only out of armor!” Legolas’s smile went crooked, “Sam is worried about Frodo and wanted to make him a special meal as a treat. Let’s go tell Sam he can have my vanilla beans and go exploring for food. Whatever we catch Sam can make into dinner.”

Gimli sits up rubbing his face. “Let’s do it, can you talk to Sam?”

“I’ll meet you in the garden in 30 minutes, don’t be late mellon nin!” The elf slips out the window and walks casually away along the gutter system. Gimli suddenly understands how Legolas had gained entry to his quarters. 

***

Legolas kneels with his bow behind the bush staring at the birds. It is a flock of nice plump doves, they are feathered in soft brown with little flecks of black and white circling their necks. By his count, he needs sixteen for one Man, four Hobbits, Gandalf, Gimli and himself. These are perfect, a treat for everyone that would make Gimli happy too. From the way they peck and scratch without fear they obviously have few predators and are easy marks. 

Gimli sits bemused at the other end of the park with a basket, engaged in the not-very-dwarf-like behavior of picking flowers. Legolas had carefully pointed out the little purple and yellow flowers of the violets and the bright orange and yellow nasturtiums. He still wasn’t certain you should eat flowers, but he had been assured the hobbits would be delighted. (There was some discussion on whether a war bow or throwing axes were best for hunting doves, war bow had won out as most likely to leave intact doves for dinner.)

In the kitchen, Sam dusted his hands and considers the nut tarts he had just finished. The vanilla bean made them perfect. It was almost time to feed Mr. Frodo lunch. Any time now Mr. Gimli and Mr. Legolas would be back with food and he could start work on tonight’s special meal for Mr. Frodo. It would be nice to cook for everyone again and he can’t wait to see what Mr. Gimli and Mr. Legolas have managed to find on their date.

Aragorn sits at his desk and reads reports. This one at least makes sense for him to see: the projected grain harvest for different parts of Gondor. He is carefully ignoring Faramir, who is waxing eloquent about the joys of Lady Eowyn. Apparently Lady Eowyn is going to make dinner tonight.... 

***

“Just a moment lad. Can you wait here with our dinner?” As they walked past the market Gimli has a sudden idea.

The hunt was a great success, they have an entire brace of doves in a hamper lined with leaves (already plucked and cleaned and ready for Sam to cook), flowers and other salad greens in a basket, and even a little pile of raspberries from a bush they found along a wall. There had been more raspberries, but neither had been able to resist the temptation to eat their fill. 

Legolas nodded and curled up in the shade and long grass under one of the big trees at the edge of the market. Gimli bustled off into the crowds. A few minutes later he returned and sat down next to the elf. 

Gruffly he said, “Come here a moment.” Carefully wrapping one large hand around Legolas’ head, he pulls the suddenly pliant elf so his head is on one leg. “Hold still, I am going to fix your beads.”

Legolas doesn’t move a muscle as Gimli carefully pulls the leather cord away from his neck and fumbles at the knot. Finding it too tightened to easily unknot, he pulls out his boot knife and cuts the string, lifting it beads and all off of Legolas’ neck. He slides the beads off the string and onto his purchase, a thick silk cord of Durin blue. He cuts it to length and swiftly ties a loop and little macramé knot to finish the ends. As he works, Legolas begins to idly hum but stays limp, head warm against Gimli’s thigh.

Gimli loops the newly finished necklace back on, smoothing the elf’s hair and caressing the delicate neck bones with his thumb as he admired his handiwork. “There, done.”

Legolas pops back up with a delighted look and immediately launches himself into the slightly surprised dwarf’s arms to squeeze him in a tight hug. 

“Thank you Gimli! They are very pretty!”

Legolas pauses, long arms wrapping around Gimli’s shoulders, before leaning in and very lightly planting a kiss on the dwarf’s lips. 

“I love you too, Gimli.”

***

Aragorn sat down with a sigh at his desk: the paperwork had magically reappeared overnight and Faramir was late. At least on top of the pile in the front center of the desk is a note that a group of scribes previously assigned to the palace are returning to take up their jobs in three days. The sheer prospect of an end to the paper deluge makes him cheerful.

Dinner last night was excellent. Sam made roast doves, baked potatoes and a gorgeous salad decorated with edible flowers. They finished with wonderful tarts made with the vanilla beans. Everyone enjoyed the good Hobbit food and whether by food or company, Frodo was finally looking a little brighter and happier. 

Best of all was watching Gimli and Legolas. They obviously had finally managed to TALK to each other and spent the entire meal sitting so close they should have just shared a chair and putting items of food on each other’s plates. So saccharinely romantic it was hard to watch with a straight face, but much better than dangerous or a little horrifying. 

The hobbits were already making plans for a wedding. Hopefully they remember to talk to Legolas and Gimli before they get too far.

The report on top of the top center stack was from the newly reconstituted City Watch. Let’s see…. 

One case of vandalism, someone apparently maliciously picked all the flowers in one of the parks on the First Ring and left piles of feathers on the walkways. Picked all the flowers and left feathers? With the general destruction in the First Ring how had the guards noticed? Had someone complained? And if so, WHY?

The barracks on the Second Ring West had apparently not been delivered their inventoried allotment of uniform socks. 

At the end of the list of active cases from the City Watch an item caught his eye. A woman on the Third Ring was reporting sixteen of her pet doves missing. And included names and descriptions of each. Apparently they had never come home to roost after being let out for the day to forage. Aragon sighed and made a mental note to find out how much sixteen doves would cost. He’s not certain he as king should admit he very strongly suspects he helped eat someone’s pets, but maybe he can sneak in and leave the money on the back porch or something.


End file.
